It's the kind of day that necessitates not a walk, but many walks: seaglass hunting at Eastville as the ferry boat toots its hellos; hiking over the bridges at Fulling Mill Brook, opening your heart and ears up to all the new complexities in the birdsong; strolling through the garden, straining your hopeful eyes for a glimpse of a green shoot, even though the peas went in only days ago. There are endless walks I could take today. Even as I sit writing I feel the internal pressure to be out there. In it. Taking my shoes off at the beach, even though its still too cold for that. Skipping the sunscreen I put on my face every morning, just to soak up as much vitamin D as I can, save it for the grey, nasty days April is sure to be full of. Letting the dog wander on our walks, not minding when he comes back panting and triumphantly reeking of a good roll in something quite foul.
Is this spring fever? It doesn't feel feverish. Nor does it feel frantic or frenzied. It's more familiar. A gradual awakening of the earth and the senses. Oh yeah, Spring! I remember you. After all that snow and ice and ice and snow and ice, I almost forgot what you look like, how you smell...
Okay, that's enough musing for today. Time for another walk. And some good, honest gratitude for every single last bit of this magnificent day.
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